


A Little Sincerity

by Rhadamantelope



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, first work on here wooo, mild emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 08:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3521600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhadamantelope/pseuds/Rhadamantelope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the words of Oscar Wilde, "a little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Sincerity

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a pretty early work so I'll admit it's not my best. I'm still pretty fond of it though. Enjoy!

It was not affection.  
An easy statement for Jonathan Crane to make early on. And it had not been; what it had been was a sick trial, a morbid fascination with the darkest corners of the mind.  
Specifically one of the brightest minds in Gotham. Aside from his own, of course. As far as Crane was concerned, he was beyond repair and thus unfit for his own studies.  
Edward Nigma had fascinated him since their first formal encounter in Arkham. Too smart for his own good, Nigma was an amalgamation of so many afflictions familiar to the ex-psychologist: Narcissism, OCD, and likely some form of anxiety as well.  
The pair had become well-acquainted soon enough, and did not hesitate to ask favors of one another.  
It was after an unsuccessful heist on the Riddler’s part that Jonathan Crane made what may have been his first wrong move. Nigma had dashed past him, eyes wide in excitement and a grin spread across his face. Crane offered him shelter in his laboratory, to which he accepted before one more police siren could sound off.

 

Nigma leaned on a table, and chattered about some complex puzzle he had left behind. Every so often, Crane would smile coldly in response.  
Hours passed, not uncomfortably but not entirely comfortably either. Nigma had gone on for as long as Crane deemed necessary, and the doctor strode across the room as Nigma paused. He grabbed his jawline with one hand, and with the other extracted a syringe from his pocket. Nigma grabbed his wrist with both hands and tried to pry Crane’s hand from his face.  
He paled as the needle pierced the exposed skin of his neck and grasped the edge of the table for support. Crane felt his pulse surge beneath his hand and stepped back, watching the Riddler sink to the floor, shuddering.  
Crane was rather impressed with himself. The toxin had never worked that quickly before, and he made a mental note to keep that specific formula. On the ground, Nigma sat with his arms loose around one knee and the other leg stretched out. He had closed his eyes and began to sob through gritted teeth.  
Very soon, Nigma’s sobs evolved into shrieks. Crane strained to hear what exactly he was yelling, but settled on a series of apologies and promises “not to do it again.” Blood dripped down Nigma’s lip, and Crane wiped it away gently.  
“Tch, you’ve bitten your lip…”  
Nigma dug his fingertips into his leg and moaned loudly, this time a clear apology. To his father.  
Crane smiled fondly as the screams began to die back down into sobs.  
"So that’s what you were afraid of, eh?" he asked. Nigma’s eyelids had begun to droop, and he leaned his head against the leg of the table, tear-stained face ghostly from the effects of the toxin.

_________________________________________________________

 

When Nigma had awoken, Crane had offered him a drink of water. This resulted in screaming, the slamming of heavy doors, and a disoriented Riddler running out into the street. The two did not speak for a long time afterwards. But still, Crane could not help but think how perfect a subject Nigma had been; and to think, he was almost entirely cooperative!  
This was likely Crane’s second mistake. He began to dwell upon Nigma’s relationship with his father. He would never refer to his actions as such, but he worried about Nigma’s past. By extension, he worried about Nigma, leading him to make what would be deemed a “house call.”  
Needless to say, Nigma was not thrilled to see Crane on his doorstep. With some persuasion, Crane eventually was allowed inside.  
It was evident that Nigma did not want to be anywhere near the doctor; he sat a good distance across the table, arms and legs crossed like iron walls.  
“I was…concerned.”  
Nigma scowled.  
“I’m sure you were. If you pull out another vial of that…stuff, I’ll kill you.”  
“Tell me about your father.”  
That took him by surprise. Unsure, he replied:  
“No. Why?”  
“Like I said, I was concerned.” Crane tilted his head innocuously. “Besides, I think you could benefit from talking to someone.”  
Nigma brushed a hand through his hair. Then he started to speak. His father was abusive, his father thought he was an idiot, his father was convinced he was a cheater…  
By the time he had finished, Crane simply nodded and stood up. Nigma raised his eyebrows.  
“You’re…leaving?”  
“Well, yes. You’ve told me what you needed to. What you wanted to, at least. I’ll be taking my leave now.”  
But Crane hesitated.  
“…Unless, of course, you would like me to stay for a little while longer. I don’t have anywhere to be.”

_________________________________________________________

 

It had been a few months since Jonathan Crane confronted Edward Nigma about his father. They had parted on fairly good terms. Better than good, to be exact. Nigma actually felt somewhat comfortable around the Scarecrow, which was an enormous leap from their previous situation.  
Perhaps too comfortable, but Crane felt similarly, if not the same way.  
The details were fuzzy, but there was definitely a third mistake between the two of them. It was self-indulgence on Crane’s part, and selfish and unbusinesslike (as they were supposedly on “business terms”) on Nigma’s part. However, what they could remember was an inexplicable magnetism on a quiet street and the feeling of each others’ lips and the soft tug in through the doorway of Crane’s apartment.

They were a tangle of limbs and sheets the following morning. Crane felt a need to shove Nigma out of his bed, out of his home, out of his life together, but simply could not bring himself to.  
Nigma was still asleep, his head nestled in the crook of the ex-psychologist’s neck. His dark brown hair, now nearly auburn in the morning light, was fanned out over his face.  
Crane took his glasses off the nightstand and put them on. He ran a hand through Nigma’s hair and then over his shoulder, dappled with sparse freckles.  
This probably counted as a mistake as well. It was the most glaring out of all of them so far, but Doctor Jonathan Crane was beginning to think that perhaps they were not mistakes after all.  
The Riddler stirred slightly.  
“Jonathan?” he asked exhaustedly. Crane pressed his lips to Nigma’s forehead.  
“Go back to sleep. I’m sorry If I woke you.”  
“Oh, no,” Nigma shut his eyes. He smiled slightly and snickered. “I guess I was just concerned. Not sure why…”  
"Don’t be a smartass," mumbled Crane. He stroked his hand absently, carelessly…affectionately.


End file.
